


War Stories

by Roses



Series: Whisky and Cigars [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Anger, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Intoxication, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Power Dynamics, Rare Pairing, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roses/pseuds/Roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard is doing a good job of alienating her friends, which is a problem when you've spent all afternoon in a bar and can barely stand. Zaeed will probably make sure that she gets back in one piece, but not before he's found out how far he can push her before she loses her temper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Stories

The  _Normandy_ 's airlock comes open with a hiss and a rush of warm, sterile air that makes me close my eyes and steady myself against the doorway. The shapes and colours of the Citadel's docking bay are twisting and melting into one another, and a hot, hard knot of nausea is beginning to clench in the pit of my stomach.   
  
"Nearly there, Shepard. Don't you dare pass out on me now. You do and you're sleeping it off where you fall. Be damned if I'm gonna carry you."  
  
Zaeed's voice seems to be coming from a long way away, and I follow it like a thread back to a world of bright lights and spinning walls.   
  
I'd forgotten he was even there.   
  
I feel the hard pressure of his gauntlet on my wrist as he pulls my arm across his shoulders and puts his hand around my waist. It's just as well, there's no way in hell I would have made it across the CIC to the elevator without him holding me up. Not without falling on my face.   
  
It's late, and most of the  _Normandy_ 's stations are unoccupied and dark. The ship seems almost unnaturally silent. I've gotten too used to the sound of working engines and the chatter of the crew.  
  
"Commander."  
  
If Joker hadn't spoken to me, I wouldn't even have noticed him.   
  
I turn my head towards the bridge and rest my weight against Zaeed. The old bastard barely even seems to notice it.  
  
"Joker," I manage, although even that's a struggle.   
  
He is going over some data on the holographic interface in front of him, but I'm far too drunk to see what it is. I find myself wondering if the man ever actually sleeps.   
  
"I'm guessing that the meeting with Councilor Anderson didn't go well. At least, that's what I figured from the look on Garrus's face when he came through here a couple of hours ago, and the fact that you're... You know... Losing track of where your feet are."  
  
The ball of nausea in my stomach turns into a spike of white-hot anger. I've spent all night drinking myself to the point where I wasn't thinking about the meeting with Anderson any more. The last thing I want is to be reminded of it.   
  
"No, Joker," I tell him. "No it didn't go well. The Alliance won't help us, and the Council won't even talk to me. Oh, and Anderson isn't about to tell me where Staff Lieutenant..." I correct myself. " _Commander_  Alenko is either. Apparently it's classified. Too classified for a Spectre, and too classified for him to be sharing it with the hero of the Citadel ."  
  
Zaeed's arm tightens a little around my waist, forcing me to lean into him.  
  
I swallow hard against the wall of burning rage that's burrowing it's way through me.  
  
"They aren't going to be helping us out on this one," I tell Joker. "Not the Council, not the Alliance... Not anyone. We're on our own, Jeff."  
  
"Right..." Joker says. I'm making him uncomfortable by trying to talk to him, but right now I couldn't care less. "Well, have a good night, Commander."  
  
"Thanks, Joker," I say, my voice twisted by a mixture of anger and bile. "Actually, no. You know what?"  
  
"Come on, Shepard," Zaeed tells me. "I'm not standing here propping you up while you bitch at the rest of your crew. You coming or am I going to have to let you fall on your arse?"  
  
A growl gathers in my throat.   
  
"Alright," I say. "Alright. I'm coming."  
  
Joker says, "See ya, Commander."  
  
I could almost wring his neck. Assuming that I could stagger far enough to get my hands around his throat.   
  
I force myself to take a breath. To remind myself that Joker doesn't deserve it. That I'm lucky to have him. That the last thing I need to do tonight is piss off any more of my friends.   
  
I think of what Joker said about Garrus, about the look of blood and thunder on his face when he came back onto the  _Normandy_  without us. It seems like more than two hours ago that I last saw him.   
  
It feels almost like a lifetime.  
  


*  *  *

  
The second that I arrived on the Citadel, I had gone straight to the Presidium to see Captain... To see  _Councilor_  Anderson. I don't know what I'd been expecting, but whatever it was I didn't get it. Maybe I thought that the whole galaxy would just stop turning for two years and wait for me, or that everyone I'd lost would be so happy to see me that nothing else would matter. Instead, I got to learn again what I'd learned when I met Tali down on Freedom's Progress, and when I found Garrus on Omega: That the world had moved along without me.   
  
I couldn't tell you why I found that so hard to take. It isn't like I ever thought I was something different, something special, someone that the whole universe revolved around. I'm just a soldier. Maybe one who seems to be incapable of dying or of staying dead, but just a soldier nonetheless. Maybe it was just because my team, my people, my... friends still meant so much to me, because as far as I was concerned it had only been a few weeks since I last saw them, and the fact that so much time had passed why I lay on a Cerberus operating table--a pile of meat and bones... barely breathing... barely even alive--was still too much for me.  
  
Either way, it seemed sensible to go straight from the Presidium to some place... any place on the wards where I could drink myself sick and spend a few hours being ignored. I hadn't said a word to anyone, and so Garrus and Zaeed had followed me, sat down beside me at the bar, and started drinking too. I was so full of bitterness and rage that I could scream, but I can't say that I wasn't grateful for their company.   
  
After the third or fourth round of drinks we'd started talking, and by the fifth or sixth I wasn't feeling quite so much like killing somebody.   
  
"You know, Shepard," Garrus told me. "Sometimes I think that the only way the universe is ever going to be safe is if we forget about the Alliance and the Council and just agree to put you in charge of everything. Maybe when all of this is over, the galaxy will finally see sense and that'll happen."  
  
I should have thanked him for it. At any other time, and under any other circumstances, I would have done just that. But I was hurt, I was angry, and I had been drinking hard for over an hour. And so I didn't thank him for his kindness, for his friendship, or for his trust.  
  
Instead, I said, "Garrus, being in charge of the whole galaxy is absolutely the last damned thing I want."  
  
Garrus inclined his head a little and studied me with those small, dark eyes.   
  
"So what do you want, Shepard?" he said. "When all of this is over. What is it that you want?"  
  
I started to realise that I'd painted myself into a corner. That there'd be no getting out of it now.   
  
I didn't want to have this conversation with him. Not here. Not now.   
  
In one last attempt to avoid it, I said, "Hell, Garrus, we don't even know that there is going to be a 'when all of this is over'. The chances of us all coming back from this alive are pretty bad. For now, I'm just want to improve those chances as much as I can."  
  
Garrus studied me a little while longer, and just when I started to think that I might get away with it, Zaeed said:  
  
"I heard that you wanted to go back to Omega. Set yourself up as the head of Aria T'Loak's personal army."  
  
He poured himself another glass of whiskey and turned his narrow, mismatched eyes on me.   
  
I felt my teeth clench and my lips press together until they were almost white. The heat from the cybernetic implants underneath my skin surged to the boil. I could feel them burning like a headache, just behind my eyes.  
  
I pulled the bottle out of Zaeed's hand, and poured myself another glass.  
  
"You just couldn't keep you big mouth shut, could you, Massani?"  
  
Zaeed shrugged.   
  
"Why the hell should I? It's the truth, ain't it?"  
  
I emptied the contents of my glass in a single mouthful before slamming it back down on the bar.   
  
"Even if it is," I told him. "It's none of your damned business."  
  
"Shepard," Garrus said. "Why the hell would you want to go back to a place like Omega? Or work for somebody like Aria T'Loak? How could you possibly want to be a part of something like that?"  
  
I took a breath and steeled myself. If I was going to have this argument, then I was going to make damned sure that I won.   
  
I never argue to lose.   
  
"Think about it, Garrus," I said, refilling my glass and pushing the bottle of turian brandy across the bar to him. "People like you and I, we've been fighting the good fight for our entire lives. Trying to do something... anything. Trying to make a difference. Only we never make a difference, Garrus.  _Nothing ever changes_ . We just keep on fighting: The geth, the Reapers, the Collectors, the rachni, the krogan... it doesn't matter. We argue with the Council, with the Alliance, with C-Sec or Cerberus or the Turian Hierarchy. We never make one single blind bit of difference, and do you know why? Because all anyone in this universe is interested in is themselves. All anyone is interested in is covering their own asses."  
  
Garrus tapped a talon against his empty glass and shook his head.  
  
"You can't believe that, Shepard. Look at everything you've done in the last few years: Taking on Saren and the geth, the Reapers, and now the Collectors. You're out there doing something. You  _are_  making a difference."  
  
A surge of heat ran through the capacitors underneath my skin. I slammed the flat of my palm down onthe table.   
  
"Damn it, Garrus, don't you see? I'm not making a difference.  _I'm not changing anything_ . The only thing I'm doing is keeping the ship above the water. Preserving the status quo. Making sure that the galaxy is still around so that the Council, the Alliance and everybody else out there can keep on looking after themselves. We're in exactly the same damned situation with the Collectors that we were in two years ago. Because politicians will always be politicians, business will always be business, and because we're all the same: Human, turian, asari, salarian, krogan... People want to hold on to whatever shreds of power and stability they have, to hold onto their own little insignificant places in the universe, and so everything ends up this way, over and over again. There will always be wars, and bureaucracy, and politics. Mercs and gangs and red sand dealers, people who what power by whatever means they can get their grubby hands on it, and who are too afraid of losing it to do anything to change things."  
  
Zaeed topped up our glasses. I could feel him smiling at me. That bastard.  
  
"You understand," he said. "Good girl."  
  
"And you can shut the hell up while you're at it," I snapped. "Unless you want to see what you look like with a bullet in the other side of your face."  
  
"Pull the other one, Shepard," Zaeed said. "Do you have any idea what I've been through in the past thirty years? The things I've seen? You think that I'm afraid of you?"  
  
I turned my head and stared at him. The heat in my eyes was like a lightning rod waiting to discharge.  
  
"You will be," I said in a low, dark voice. "If you know what's good for you."  
  
Zaeed and I stared at one another like a pair of varren at a pit fight.   
  
Finally, Garrus said:  
  
"So you spend ten minutes talking to Councilor Anderson, and now you've decided that there's nothing you can do to change things. You're giving up."  
  
I turned my attention back to him. His claws were tightening on that empty glass. I picked up the bottle of turian brandy, and refilled it for him. He was starting to make me nervous, although I wasn't going to let it show.  
  
"I'm not giving up, Garrus," I said. "This isn't about me getting my pride hurt and throwing in the towel. This is about facing the facts: A Reaper... An actual, honest-to-god Reaper attacked the Citadel two years ago, and here we are now with the whole galaxy having convinced itself that it was some kind of terrible dream. The old Council are dead, and the new ones aren't any better. I hate Cerberus even more than you do, but if it wasn't for them then we'd be one step away from falling right into the Collectors' hands right now. The Council, the Alliance... No one is interested in anything that might rock the boat or upset the balance of galactic power."  
  
I heard a dulled, splintering sound as the glass cracked in Garrus's claws and the contents began to leak out onto the bar.  
  
"And so you just want to write it all off and throw your lot in with Aria," he said. "With people who live by exploiting the weak and the desperate.  _With people who I've spent the last two years trying to get rid of_ ."  
  
"Damn it, Garrus, that's just it. Don't you see? You're the best shot and about the nicest guy I've ever met, and you've spent two years doing everything you could to make a difference on Omega, and what have you achieved? What's changed because of it? You could nuke the whole damned station from orbit and the entire operation would just start up somewhere else. There are always going to be criminals and gangs, junkies and dealers, but Omega is just small enough, and Aria T'Loak is just reasonable enough that maybe things could be just a little different there. That maybe someone like me could go in there and change things--not in a great, bloody wall of fire, but gently, from the inside.   
  
"All you can hope for in this life is that you're tough enough and strong enough to save a few tiny things that matter: A friend here, a settlement there. You can make a difference to one person, to a dozen, or even to a hundred, but you can never make a difference to them all, Garrus. The galaxy is just too big and people are just too selfish--no matter what colour their skin is.   
  
"You went into Omega all blood and fire and you didn't change a goddamned thing. And you know what else? So long as all you care about is settling galactic wrongs and righting some kind of universal injustice, you never will. Sooner or later, you're going to need to hear that."  
  
"Maybe" Garrus said, getting to his feet. "But not tonight. And not from you. I'm done here, Shepard."  
  
I looked up at him as he loomed over me, and gauged the look in his eyes. I'd known him for long enough to know when to try to talk to him, and when to let him be.   
  
I said, "Take care of yourself, Garrus."  
  
His mandibles twitched and the look in his eyes grew darker.   
  
"Right," he said.  He turned to leave, but even then he couldn't quite stop himself from digging his claws into Zaeed's shoulder as he headed for the door.  "Make sure that she gets back in one piece, Massani," he said. "If she doesn't, then I'll come after you."  
  
Zaeed looked up at him implacably. His fingers didn't even twitch, let alone reach for his sidearm--he was mean enough and old enough that he didn't have to. Not any more.  
  
"I think that the Commander can look after herself," he said. "Don't you?"  
  
All the same, his eyes followed Garrus the rest of the way out of the club before turning back to me.   
  
I sighed, rested my forearms on the bar, and closed my eyes.  
  
Zaeed said, "What's your history with that turian?"  
  
I shrugged my shoulders, and by the time I opened my eyes again Zaeed had already poured me another drink.   
  
"Garrus and I have known each other for a long time," I said. "He's picked me up off my ass more times than I care to think about."  
  
I drank and said:  
  
"I owe him. He's a friend. And from the looks of it, maybe the last one that I've got."  
  
Zaeed picked up the bottle and said:  
  
"Want another?"  
  
I managed a small and angry laugh.  
  
"What the hell," I said. "Why not?"  
  


*  *  *

  
As the doors of the  _Normandy_ 's elevator ease open, I stumble inside and steady myself against the railing. I take hold of it with both hands, while Zaeed steps in behind me and activates the interface to take us to the loft.   
  
I could do without the feeling of the floor moving underneath me. I'm starting to feel a little like I won't even be able to lie down without holding on.   
  
I open my eyes to see Zaeed leaning back against the bulkhead with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.   
  
I scowl.  
  
"Why the hell am feeling like I've been hit in the head by an asari commando and you're still on your feet?"  
  
He laughs at me.   
  
"Might have something to do with the fact that you've been drinking twice as much as I have all damned night."  
  
I frown. I hadn't noticed that. I guess the conversation with Anderson hit me harder than I wanted to admit.   
  
I say, "That sounds suspiciously like cheating."  
  
Zaeed makes a dismissive gesture with his hand.  
  
"Call it what you want," he says. "But I'm not stupid enough to try and keep up with you. Not since I saw that batarian on Omega feed you something that would mince the insides of a vorcha, and only succeed in pissing you off."  
  
I laugh at the memory of that bartender's face when I picked myself up off the floor and forced him to drink his own poison. The anger is like a small fire inside me that warms my hands on long, cold nights.  
  
I say, "He had that coming."  
  
Zaeed nods.   
  
"Couldn't agree with you more," he says. "Doesn't change the fact that he'd killed a whole goddamned bunch of people that way, and you got right up and killed him."  
  
I straighten up a little and steady myself against the railing.   
  
"What can I say?" I smirk at him. "I'm just more of a badass than you."  
  
He gives me another short, hard bark of a laugh.   
  
"Don't know if I'd go that far," he says. "But you've sure as hell got a thicker stomach. And a thicker skull."  
  
I manage to take a step forwards and jab my finger at the armour plating on his chest.  
  
"Be careful, Massani," I tell him. "Remember who you work for."  
  
He's watching me closely. Close enough to know that I'm playing games with him. He gives me a nasty smile.  
  
"Your bosses are paying me an awful lot of money to fight for you, Shepard," he says. "Not lie to you."  
  
I say, "I'd watch your tongue, Zaeed. Or I might I cut it out."  
  
But any menace I might have been feigning is ruined by the fact that a small shudder in the elevator throws me off balance so that he has to catch me.  
  
The smile on his face turns deeper and meaner. I don't think that he could manage to look anything like a nice guy, even if he tried.   
  
"Yeah, alright," he says. "Whatever you say."  
  
I rappel back against his shoulders and catch myself against the bulkhead before I fall.   
  
"You old bastard," I tell him. "Next time we go out, you match me drink for drink. And that's an order. We'll see how damned clever you look then."  
  
Zaeed recrosses his arms, and leans back against the bulkhead.  
  
He's still smiling, and he doesn't say a word.  
  
"Damn it," I say ruefully. "How long does it take for this damned elevator to go up even one lousy floor?"  
  


*  *  *

  
"Sorry, Zaeed, but I don't tell war stories."  
  
Not long after Garrus left, Zaeed had picked up a box of cheap cigars from one of the vendors on Zakera Ward, and an hour or so later we had already smoked more than half of them between us. The turian bartender didn't like us smoking, but he had the sense to know better than challenge two heavily armed, heavily armoured, angry-looking mercs that had rolled into his bar and started drinking.   
  
Zaeed adjusted one of the shoulder plates on his armour, topped up our glasses, and lit another cigar.  
  
"Now there's an excuse if ever I heard one," he said. "What's the matter, Shepard? You think you know how to kick some ass but not how to talk about it afterwards? Or you just still pretending that you're too much of a hero to kiss and tell."  
  
"Neither," I said.  
  
I took the lit cigar out of his hand and started smoking it. He looked up at me, trying to work out whether I was teasing him or challenging him. Once he'd made his mind up, he took another from the box, lit it, and glanced up through the cloud of grey-blue smoke.  
  
"So humour me," he said.  
  
I felt a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth, and gave his shoulder a shove.  
  
"Whatcha gonna do if I don't?"  
  
Zaeed went on smoking his cigar.  
  
"Like drinking alone, do you?"  
  
I inclined my head a little.  
  
"I can do. When I have to."  
  
He sat back on the barstool and crossed his legs.  
  
"Sure about that? Because it seems to me that maybe you've pissed off enough of your friends for one day."  
  
I drank my whiskey.  
  
"And you're my friend now are you, Massani?" I laughed. "Like you've ever been anybody's friend."  
  
"I can be," he said. "When I have to be."  
  
For a moment, I considered knocking him on his ass just to take him down a peg or two, but at the end of the day the old bastard was right: I'd already pissed off enough people today to want to add to it.   
  
He had the better hand and he knew it.   
  
Shit.  
  
"So, Shepard, you going to start talking?"  
  
I held up my hands, and let him pour the drinks.  
  
"Alright," I said. "Alright. Just so long as you don't make me talk about Akuze. Honestly, what's with that? I lose my whole unit to a thresher maw, nearly had my own guts ripped out in the process, and all anyone wants to do is ask me questions about it. Like they think I'd want to relive it over and over again for the rest of my life."  
  
Zaeed shrugged.  
  
"Probably why they're asking," he said. "Personally, I couldn't give a shit about what happened on Akuze. I'm more interested in hearing about what happened here two years ago. I heard you talked Saren Arterius into blowing his own brains out. That true?"  
  
"Yeah," I said, taking another mouthful of whiskey and cigar smoke. "That's true, at least. By the time we caught up with him, Saren was just about to hand control of the Citadel over to Sovereign. I'd slaughtered hundreds of his geth to get to him, and I wasn't going to stop until he was dead. I yelled at him until he decided to save himself the trouble."  
  
Zaeed swirled the whiskey in his glass, then emptied it and poured another. The blue-white lighting in the club was turning the question-mark-shaped scar on his face into a deep, black line that looked as though it had been drawn onto him with charcoal. His one white eye caught the light until it was almost blue.   
  
He said, "Was it about then that you decided to let the Council die?"  
  
I gritted my teeth, and slammed my glass down on the bar.  
  
I said, "Fuck you, Zaeed. I made a damned tough call that day. The toughest. And while all you were doing was lining your own pockets."  
  
He exhaled a mouthful of blue smoke.  
  
"That so."  
  
Before I knew it I was on my feet. As an afterthought, I caught the edge of the bar to steady myself. When did I get so damned drunk?  
  
"You're damned right that it is," I said. "None of us had any idea of how tough it would be to take down Sovereign. It's not like anyone had ever fought a Reaper and lived to tell the tale. Not before I had the guts to try."  
  
Zaeed smiled--it was the kind of smile that managed to be a challenge, or a threat.  
  
"I knew you had some damned pride down there in you somewhere," he said. "Keep talking."  
  
I narrowed my eyes and stayed on my feet.   
  
I said, "And maybe I will."  
  
I ground my cigar out on the bar, and picked up my glass.  
  
"It was tough call," I told him. "I had a split second to make the decision, and absolutely everything depended on it. If our forces were strong enough to take Sovereign down without Alliance reinforcements, and I held them back, then the Council would be dead because of me, but if we weren't... If the Council's fleet wasn't strong enough to take on Sovereign, and I held the Alliance back to try and save them, then everyone would die. Every planet, every system, every scrap of life from here to the Terminus Systems would be wiped out by the Reapers and that would be on my head, Zaeed.  _Mine_ .   
  
"And so I made the call. I held the Alliance back to take down Sovereign, and all I have ever gotten is grief for it. Like I wanted the Council to be wiped out so that we could roll in and take over."  
  
I was raising my voice, but Zaeed was as relaxed as if he was watching a holovid.   
  
"And it wasn't what you wanted?"  
  
"Damned fucking right it wasn't," I yelled. "The Alliance don't know any better than the Council. Hell, the last two years have proved that. We don't have any kind of special responsibility to run the galaxy. The damned thing was running itself for thousands of years before we showed up, and the only way anyone is getting through this is if we stop fighting over who should be in charge and start to work together. Like that's ever going to happen. Until then, it's up to people like me to do all the hard work. And it's up to people like you to help me, assuming there's still someone around to pay you for it."  
  
I slid my glass back across the bar for him to refill it.   
  
"What happened to the Council was my call," I said. "And I'll live with what's happened because of what I did, but don't you ever try and tell me that I wanted all of this."  
  
"I didn't say you did."  
  
The calm, unhurried tone in his voice was making me want to punch him. I tried to remind myself that I didn't need to go upset anyone else off today. Not even mean, old, smartass mercs like Zaeed.  
  
He said, "So you gonna tell me about the fight, or not?"  
  
I sat back down, and press my hands down on the bar.  
  
"It got messy," I said. "I sent Garrus down to check out Saren's body. Make sure he was dead. Somehow, Sovereign managed to take control of him--probably through all the implants Saren had put into his brain. I don't really remember what happened next. I think I fell. After that, there was Saren and the three of us there in the garden underneath the Council Chambers. Not much cover, and a lot of flying bullets."  
  
Zaeed waited for me to go on, and I didn't let him rush me.   
  
"We knew that the Alliance would be turning up any minute to blow Sovereign all to hell," I said. "So we had to work quickly. I did the only thing that I knew how to: Threw myself at Saren--with every gun that I could hold on fire at the muzzle. Kept him away from the rest of my team long enough that Garrus could pick out his weak spots with a rifle. Long enough that Kaidan could let loose with his biotics. He hit him with everything he had. He could barely get out of bed for a week after that fight..."  
  
I stalled, and found myself staring down at my hands--still spread out on the bar. I was far too drunk to be telling this story. I hadn't prepared myself to remember all of this. To think about how pale Kaidan looked in the days after we took down Sovereign, or how warm his hand felt on my arm when he told me he was fine.  
  
My hands were shaking, and the tangled ball of anger and pain at the back of my throat was threatening to make me cry. I'd be damned if I was going to do that. Not here. Not now. And  _definitely_  not in front of the likes of Zaeed Massani.  
  
I clenched my jaw, and pushed myself up off of the barstool.  
  
"This is bullshit," I said. "All of this is ancient history, and I'm in no mood to go reliving it. Story's over, Zaeed. It's late."  
  
Zaeed didn't say anything at all. After a moment, I looked up to find him watching me. He gauged the look in my eyes for a moment, then nodded and got to his feet.  
  
"You're right," he said. "It's time to go."  


*  *  *

  
  
"EDI, lights."  
  
"Certainly, Commander."   
  
The warm, placid sound of EDI's artificial voice seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. In the space of a heartbeat, the lights come up and I scan the room quickly and automatically. Nothing's out of place. Nothing's changed. No one has been in here. But then, no one needs to be. The Illusive Man has so many bugs in my room that he can probably hear my stomach turning.   
  
I barely keep my footing as I come down the steps into my cabin, and when I reach the bottom Zaeed turns me around to face him and takes me by the shoulders. He steadies me for a moment, then unsnaps the catches on my gauntlets and eases them away from the ballistic-weave jumpsuit that I'm wearing underneath.   
  
I look at the blistered, ruined skin covering the right side of his face. His hands ease around my sides and unclip the snaps on my chestplate. Underneath all the bile and hate and nausea, something warm begins to pool at the bottom of my abdomen. When he doesn't look up at me, I smile.  
  
"You going to make good on that, Massani?"  
  
Zaeed makes a short, amused sound at the back of his throat.  
  
"Not this time, Shepard."  
  
The cold air is leaking underneath the loosened plates of my armour and I shiver. I shift my weight, and put my hands onto my hips.   
  
"Why not?" I say. "When was the last time that you got an offer that good?"  
  
"Probably while you were still climbing trees and pulling the boys' hair on Mindoir."  
  
I laugh.  
  
"Are you really about to play the whole 'you're young enough to be my daughter' card, Zaeed?"  
  
He says, "Not bloody likely. It might come as a surprise to you, Shepard, but there aren't many depths that I'm not prepared to stoop to."  
  
I blink my eyes to try and focus on something other than the way the whole room seems to be tipping to one side. Zaeed unfastens the last of the catches on my chestplate, eases it away, and puts his hand on my shoulder hard enough to make me sit down on the bed.  
  
"So what's the problem?"  
  
He crouches down in front of me unfastens my greaves. Then he holds up one hand and asks me:  
  
"How many fingers?"  
  
I don't hesitate.  
  
"Seven."  
  
"That's part of the problem," he says.   
  
I lay back on the bed--too drunk to argue with him--and let him pull my boots off. It doesn't take me long to discover that closing my eyes is even worse than having them open.   
  
I put my hands to my head.  
  
I say, "I think I'm going to be sick."  
  
Zaeed says, "And there's the other part of the problem."  
  
I laugh at him.  
  
"Are you saying you won't sleep with me because I'm drunk? Because you think that you'd be taking advantage of me?"  
  
He lifts my feet up onto the bed and shunts my body armour into a corner with his foot.  
  
"Shocked to find out that I've got one single moral left hiding in there somewhere?" he says. "Yeah. I was too. Suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later."  
  
He pats my shoulder a couple of times, and turns towards the door.  
  
"G'night, Shepard."  
  
I look up to see him standing in the doorway.  
  
"EDI," he says. "Lights."  
  
"Of course, Mister Massani."  
  
The lights drop, leaving Zaeed as nothing but a dark silhouette against the circle of white light that's filling up the door.   
  
"Goddamned AIs," he says, and steps into the light.  
  
I push myself up onto my elbows, and try my best not to fall out of the bed.  
  
"Zaeed?" I say.  
  
His shadow cants it's head.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
I hear him pause in the door for a few moments.  
  
Finally, he says:  
  
"All part of the service, princess. Just try not to choke to death in your sleep, alright?"


End file.
